A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller

by PR Hilton

  Three long nights it had taken and now Harry knew that just feet away in the dark fog filled night stood Sailor. It had taken so many hours of questions, different girls and false leads. And then it had been Jenny of all people who had recognised the name and had taken Harry aside and told him where he would find the French pimp. Before telling him her story, she had extracted a promise from Royle. A vow to never tell Johnny about Sailor and the bad days when both she and Ruth together with Sally Hardacre had been his English team made to sell themselves lower because of not being exotic enough for Sailor's idea of quality merchandise, and prey to the man's many sadist whims.

  Harry had felt genuine pity for the girl as he had heard more than he would have been comfortable asking for. At the end of the lurid tale, Jenny had gripped his shoulder and made certain of his word of honour on the matter of his silence. Johnny had always assumed Jenny had met Ruth in a nightclub and hit it off. And Jenny wanted him to go on thinking like that. Of the three girls, only Ruth had continued on the game, but as a freelance, Sally, like Jenny had managed to escape the life. Sally Hardacre had been working in a shoe shop when her past had caught up with her so violently and ended her life.

  It had even been Jenny who had told Royle, that Thursday nights at ten thirty was Sailor's collection time from his girls, and so Harry had only to wait in the right place. The girl had cautioned him about the knife carried by Sailor in the small of his back in an upside down sheath. Jenny told Royle that until she had met Johnny, she had carried a knife, tucked neatly into its sheath on her thigh. After they'd got away from the Frenchman, the three women had taken to carrying knives and had vowed to die before going back to their old life. Two weeks before she was killed, Jenny had received a message from Sally, that Sailor had told her that both she and Jenny were to meet him. The night of the meeting was the night Sally Hardacre was killed and Ruth disappeared. Jenny Crosby shivered as she told Harry that it had been Ruth who had insisted going to meet Sailor in her place.

  As soon as the match flame had flickered to darkness, Royle had stepped quickly to one side and hugged a parked car. Bending down he felt the cold, damp metal against his cheek. Then shuffling feet broke into a run and Harry took a breath. The other man was running quickly and his footfalls were heavy and careless. These were the sounds of a man used to being taken very seriously and who was afraid of nothing.

  Harry pulled the gun from his pocket, flicked off the safety catch and waited. The footsteps stopped. Silence echoed off the cobbles like thunder on a still night. Harry stood up quickly and the raider's siren wailed through the night. The sudden unexpected sound distracted Royle for just a second, and he realised too late that the man was right in front of him. He pointed the gun and saw a flash of steel blade reflected in the moonlight, as it arced out towards his face. The moment stood still as Harry Royle waited for the blade to slice through his flesh. The blade missed completely as the man jerked upright and brought his arms out to his sides in a shocked gesture. Harry levelled the gun, only to realise that the man was crumpling to his lifeless knees like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

  As Sailor fell at Harry's feet, he could now see another person standing behind him. Jenny stood holding a small stiletto knife in her gloved hand. The knife flew into action, as Jenny Crosby lunged forward and delivered another five or six sharp, brutal knife wounds to the stricken Frenchman's body. A noise off in the shadows alerted Harry's trained ears. The sound of another man's heavy footfalls advancing toward them both. He stepped forward in front of the now kneeling Jenny, as a bullet ripped a hole into the car where he had stood just a moment before. Royle fired two shots in quick succession in the direction of the barrel flash and heard a man hit the floor.

  Harry took a step back and pocketed the pistol. The woman stopped and shuddered, as she stood up. She threw the knife into the gutter and looked up at Royle. She was shivering in her thin white evening dress, looking phantom-like in the darkness. The siren warning of impending raiders continued to wail overhead. Looking around, he made certain they were now alone. Jenny turned to Royle.

  "Harry, will you take me home, please?"

  Harry stripped off his topcoat and draped it around Jenny's shoulders. They moved off away from the scene of death. Harry kicked the bloody knife down towards the open slats of a grid, which swallowed the weapon in a clatter, lost by the raider warning. The full realisation of what she had done came back to Jenny within minutes and she began to crumble.

  Royle decided to take her back to the flat in Camden Town. Over several large whisky's and a good cry, Jenny Crosby managed to put things in perspective. Harry had had the good sense to call Johnny and tell him where Jenny was, explaining that they'd met on the street and when the raid started, he'd taken her straight home. He disliked using the public shelters for the reason that they were too public for his liking. The idea of being trapped in a place with only a single exit and those in authority able to shine a torch on every face was not something he cared to ever chance. Many people hated the idea of all that humanity squashed together coughing and spluttering over each other, not to mention the endless George Formby sing-a-longs and the would be Vera Lynn's which was enough to make London above ground seem much more of an attractive prospect to many. And he and Jenny now felt the same way. Preferring to take their chances out in the open. Thankfully, Johnny Mangusco was very relieved that she was with Harry and thanked him for looking after her. The raid lasted four hours and during that time a friendship was formed.

  They talked and Royle found Jenny Crosby to be a different girl, from the one he had assumed her to be. Tipping his glass back, he looked at the pretty blonde opposite him.

  "What? Harry, what?"

  He smiled.

  "I was just thinking about Ruth, she'd like us being friends, wouldn't she?"

  Jenny managed a weak smile.

  "Yes, she would. She always told me that I'd like you, but I always thought you were just another of Johnny's thugs, sorry but there it is."

  A hollow laugh came from the door behind them. Jean had come in, unnoticed over the sound of the air-raid siren. She opened her mouth, as they turned to look at her.

  "I'm still trying to work him out myself."

  Harry quickly introduced the two women and to his great relief, Jean was very pleasant and did her best to make Jenny feel welcome. Royle got Jean a glass and she joined them, as Jenny moved aside, so Jean could sit beside Harry. They drank more, smoked and the two friends remembered Ruth. They made sure to include Jean in the conversation and told her stories connected to their mutual friend.

  Sailor's death was never again mentioned and it didn't even make much of a stir in the news. It made it on to page four of The Illustrated, and then it was only mentioned in reference to in-fighting between gangsters, when they should be fighting that menace, Hitler. Royle finally learned that Sailor had threatened to tell Johnny everything unless Jenny performed certain tasks for him. She had frantically told Ruth in desperation. Ruth had gone to speak to the Frenchman, the night she disappeared. The new friendship between Harry and Jenny was put down to their shared experience during the raid.

  Royle hadn't liked hiding the facts from Johnny and Jean, but he understood and respected Jenny enough to keep his mouth shut on the matter. And he also knew that Ruth would be happy in his silence over the night's events. As for Ruth, he wondered if he would ever know what became of her. He assumed that like Sally Hardacre, she had met a violent death, but he had his hopes, that one day he'd see her strolling through Soho, like the old days. He experienced a lightness following Sailor's death. A debt had well and truly been paid and a line had been drawn under the whole sad affair. He felt that he could now get on with his life with Jean.

  The following Saturday he took Jean to The White Cat, as promised. That night she had more than her fair share of the bright lights of London and the dancing lasted into the small hours. Jenny had helped her choose a dress and Harry had been so proud to have
her on his arm. Jean Griffiths had looked and felt like a Hollywood star.

  Devon, of course, had the best moment of the night, as he opened that evening's performance, introducing his band and watching his friend's shocked expression, at his sudden rise in circumstances. The band had begun with Stardust for Jenny and later had played A nightingale sang in Berkley Square, for the beautiful lady on the dancefloor. Jean had been overwhelmed and so touched by this gesture, which had made her realise how happy she in fact was.

  Chapter 13

  14th October 1940

  Two figures clung to the inside of a night-darkened shop doorway, as all hell broke loose. Harry Royle and Devon Jones had been on their way to The White Cat Club when the bombs had started falling. They had, as usual, ignored the sirens wailing, warning of the impending raid overhead. Only when explosions had begun to rip buildings apart, had the two friends ducked inside the closed butcher's shop doorway, for shelter. The men stood as far back in the doorway as possible, keeping their faces turned inward and their backs flat against the closed and locked door. Their bodies turned away from the blasts and their mouths slightly open, taking short, shallow breaths, a trick Harry had learned in the army and had taught his friend. Worse than the outer destructive force of an explosion, is the shock-wave which follows and those caught holding their breath, have enormous pressure forced into their internal organs.

  After a few minutes, the curtain of destruction began to move, creeping slowly along in a slightly jagged line. A flash illuminated the doorway and then a series of detonations followed, deep and rumbling, but these were further off in the distance. They moved cautiously away from the perceived safety of the doorway and out into the middle of the street. Acrid smoke poured unchecked from more than a dozen fires. Slabs of building frontage filled the street. They broke into a run as they turned the corner. They made no attempt to talk, as both were all too aware of the constant background noise.

  On a normal night in London, their footsteps would have echoed in the stillness, and would have almost certainly caught the attention of at least one police constable. On this night, the police were too busy and seriously undermanned, as so many of their number had been called to fight. Now the only good experienced coppers in the capital were the old veterans. Most of them had seen their own share of death and destruction during the last war. These older men had now been supplemented by women and boys. To keep the peace in London at the best of times was no easy task and during these dark times, unthinkable.

  Harry and Devon continued as quickly as they could until Devon raised a hand. The two stopped and Jones pointed. Across the street was a small huddle of women, they were standing motionless in a circle. The bomb blasts and fire. The sheets of searing heat and the lightning bright flashes continued relentlessly, as the raider's aircraft thundered across the night sky, picked out by searchlight beams. The group opposite remained motionless. The men approached slowly. It wasn't until they came face to face with them that they realised the horrible truth. The women, they couldn't be certain as to how many, perhaps four or five, had been blasted together. Somehow their bodies had almost fused, as flesh and bone had stuck against neighbour at terrific speed and brutal suddenness. Worse than the injuries, far worse from the men's point of view, was that the dead looked as though they were simply passing the time of day with one another. All had wide eyes and mouths in smile-like poses.

  The men turned as one and slowly walked from the scene, setting off at a faster pace than before, now with chill fear as their running companion. Within ten minutes, they had reached the club and pushed their way inside quickly. The doorman had nodded to them and moved aside, as they entered the interior of The White Cat. The men stood for a few moments confused by the scene which had greeted them.

  The dancefloor was full of moving bodies, upon the stage the band was apparently in full swing, but no sound reached their ears, only the sound of explosions and the outer report of real world carnage. Then it happened, the inner world made itself known and the music crowded in, and crowded out the war. Jazz struck their ears and for the first time, left the men feeling hollow inside. They made their way to the office and having knocked and waited for an answer, walked inside. Johnny Mangusco looked up from his crumpled Daily Sketch and smiled.

  "Hello, boys, glad to see you two, everything all right?"

  The men exchanged looks and Devon Jones answered.

  "Its hell out there boss, it really is. You know until tonight I had no idea, not really. Playing in here night after night, having fun and everything. Well, tonight we got caught in it, the war and everything, and I can't find the words."

  Johnny pursed his lips, his fingers reaching for whisky and glasses. Harry nodded in agreement and added his own words.

  "You know hiding is not what I'm made to do Johnny. Look I'm sorry, but I need to be doing something."

  Johnny nodded, as he poured three large drinks and scooped some ice into them, from a lidded bucket. Shaking his head, Mangusco addressed the two friends.

  "I know it's not very nice out there and we're living it up in here, but what can we do? You Harry, you want to join up again? You'd last five seconds. Both you and I know they'd 'ave you cleaning the flowery's with a soddin' toothbrush. And you my old mate, well they'd find a use for you, but it wouldn't be pretty, probably as target practice. You're both safe here with me and that's got to mean something. What would you have me do boys? I'm all ears, honest I am."

  At first there was no answer and then Devon spoke up.

  "I know what you're saying is right, but I wish we could do something to help."

  Mangusco nodded.

  "Harry, that how you feel?"

  Royle nodded and looked down at the thick carpeted floor. Without pausing, Johnny continued.

  "Listen, boys, I have had an idea and it's a Lulu. This war so far has been really good to me and do you know gentlemen, I think it's time I gave something back. Here's what I propose. We'll need some help, but I reckon we could do it. We set up our own rescue squad. We know we can get all the right papers we need. We'll do our own and that way nobody'll catch any of our boys out. We'll operate out of one of the warehouses, that'll be the base. I mean to do it proper. We'll nick uniforms and tin hats, you know the works. We've still got a couple of army Lorries under cover, we can use 'em for this. It'll be a good way for you boys to hide in full view and you can go out and play heroes. What do you think?"

  He paused and the other two laughed.

  "Johnny, you are one mad bastard, you know that?"

  "Mr Royle that ain't right cos me I know who me mum and dad was and so does the old bill, cos they nicked 'em often enough."

  "He's right though boss, you are crazy, but that's not saying I don't love the idea. So would we operate above board and everything?"

  Mangusco smiled and raised his hands in injured innocence.

  "Mr Jones, how could you think such things of dear old Johnny? Of course, we'd do things proper, not never shirk our duty. But and it is only a but. But, if an opportunity came knocking, sort of cap in hand, then and only then we might help ourselves to the odd little thing that might be there for the taking and we'd not be traceable if anyone got wind."

  They laughed and Johnny poured several more drinks. The night grew as mellow as the companions. Jazz pushed the war away and the music was hotter than the flames licking the buildings just streets away from the club. Devon joined his band and his sound had a new edge to it. The Jazzman lost himself in music and the night.

  It was to be several weeks before the plans laid that night, bore fruit. It was five o'clock on the evening of October the 17th when two army lorries rumbled from their warehouse base and out onto the busy London streets. The men in the vehicles wore the ubiquitous ARP overalls with yellow and black shoulder patches, which stated Rescue. They carried civilian duty respirators in their khaki haversacks and their steel helmets were painted with the ‘R' initial designating their purpose and supposed area of e
xpertise.

  Harry Royle sat next to Devon, who was driving, and skimmed the contents of the folded newspaper on his lap. Smiling at the antics of Jane, now in uniform herself, as she pelted the old officer with her parcels in her attempt to make a salute. He must have chuckled out loud because Jones shot him a quick glance, which he answered with a shrug. They drove for a while and later crossed the bridge near the docks. They knew that this was merely a trial run, just really to see if they could get away with the ruse.

  They had been on the road for about twenty-five minutes, with their vehicle taking the lead when a uniformed arm sporting the telltale police duty sleevelet stopped them in their progress. The crunch, clatter and then the hiss of brakes informed the two units that the moment of truth was about to be faced. Jones remained behind the wheel, as Royle opened the door and pushed himself through the opening, lightly dropping onto the road beneath. Setting his shoulders and head back, Guard's style, he strode up to the waiting police officers.

  Taking his papers from his pocket as he walked, he managed a broad smile for the benefit of the two grim-faced constables standing in the shadows. As he came face to face with them and was illuminated by a sudden burst of torchlight, the older one returned his smile and waved away his papers. The man offered Harry his hand and the two men shook hands. Waving his younger colleague off to the side, the man spoke.